


The Borrowing of Shirts Between Friends

by Magnetism_bind



Series: The Friendship Verse [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Shirt kink, angsty masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: James gets caught in a rain storm and has to borrow one of Thomas's shirts for the evening.





	The Borrowing of Shirts Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to The Loaning of Books Between Friends

The wind batters down in an unbridled torrent as Thomas finally reaches home. Once safely inside he removes his gloves and overcoat, shaking the rain from his wig. He sweeps it off his head in disgust, tossing it aside. It’s a soggy mess and he’s glad to have it off. He runs his fingers through his damp hair, resisting the urge to sneeze from the faint chill in the air.

“Is the fire in the drawing room lit?” he asks the butler as the man takes his soaked coat away to be dried.

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Thomas starts into the drawing room and finds himself arrested by the sight of Lieutenant James McGraw standing in front of the roaring fire in his stockinged feet. He wears no coat, his shirt is untucked from his breeches, hanging freely down to his thighs. His hair is loose, falling over his face, free and glorious.

He’s a vision in white, caught in the shadowy firelight.

Thomas swallows, unable to take his eyes from the sight. James, entirely lit by firelight, the soft folds of the crisp white shirt falling against his warm skin. His hand resting above on the mantle, the strong reach of his arm, extended fully in a beautiful arc.

James exhales wearily. He reaches up to run his fingers through his hair at the back of his neck. As he leans forward closer to examine the fire, Thomas watches the front of the shirt falling open further, revealing a bare expanse of muscled chest.

Thomas hesitates. Should he leave and give James a chance to make himself presentable? Seeing him so informal feels like intruding somehow.

Just then James turns his head and looks up to see him. “My lord, I didn’t hear you come in.” He straightens up, looking around as though there’s something that could make him look more proper and fails to find it. “I apologize for my appearance. The rain…”

“It’s quite all right.” Thomas says. “I take it you were caught in the storm.”

James nods. “I walked from the docks. My coat is rather waterlogged.” He offers a rueful smile.

“Well, I’m glad you’re out of it now.” Thomas says softly. The open swath of James’s shirt is quite distracting. He can just about make out the faint tip of a nipple. Thomas glances away, trying to think of something to say.

James looks down at himself. “I should put…something on.” He hesitates, somewhat as a loss as to what that would be.

“Nonsense.” Thomas says. “Stay close to the fire and dry off.”

He moves forward, removing his own coat as well. It’s not soaked through, but it’s damp enough to be uncomfortable. Perhaps if they’re both in their shirt sleeves, James will be less self-conscious.

James turns back to the fire, still holding himself somewhat stiffly.

“I know we had an appointment.” Thomas says after a moment, as he takes his place alongside him. “But in all honesty, I didn’t think you would come. Not on a night such as this.” He had already been preparing himself to spend the evening alone. It would be quite understandable for James to cancel. It was not a pleasant night to be out.

“If a man finds a little rain daunting, the navy is no place for him.” James murmurs, his mouth twisting slightly as he speaks.

“A little rain?” Thomas arches an eyebrow, hearing James say again that he walked from the docks. He must have been dripping wet when he arrived. His stomach tightens a little at the thought, of the rain seeping off James’s hair and coat as he’d take it off. The damp softness hasn’t left James’s hair yet.

“Well, perhaps it’s a bit more than that.” James smiles. “Anyway, I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Thomas looks down, unable to keep the smile from his lips. Then as he studies the sleeve of James’s shirt, he can’t help looking closer. He looks up. “Is that my shirt?”

“Ah…yes.” There’s a faint flush around James’s ears. “Miranda said you wouldn’t mind.”

“She’s right.” Thomas looks down again, reaching for the poker to stir the fire. “Where is she anyway?”

“She said she had an engagement this evening.” James chews on his lip.

“In this weather?” Thomas looks slightly concerned at that, but then he catches James’s expression. “Are you a jealous man, lieutenant?” Thomas inquires mildly. “It’s your own business of course, but I must tell you that jealousy is one of Miranda’s least favorite emotions.” There were certain circumstances in which she quite enjoyed it too, but that was a different matter.

“No...I’m not jealous.” James says after a moment. “I just want her to be happy. Do you think she’s happy?”

It’s delicate ground they’re treading now. Ever since James and Miranda have started seeing each other, Thomas is more aware of the time he and James spend together. Every afternoon James spends in his study, every time they go for a walk together. Every evening that passes and James lingers later and later, every farewell said slightly more reluctantly. If anyone’s jealous here, it’s him.

Thomas draws himself back to the question James had asked. “I’m sure that’s really a question for her, but I believe she is.” He knew she was in many regards.

James nods to himself. “And what about you?”

“Me?” Thomas repeats in surprise. He hadn’t expected the question turned upon himself and now he has to think about it briefly. Happiness is such a complex topic in some regards, and yet Thomas is very nearly completely happy.

“Are you happy?” James asks softly, turning slightly to look at him, his green eyes strangely solemn in the firelight.

“For the most part.” Thomas says with utter honesty. “No man is content all the time, naturally.” He pauses and then he can’t help it, he smiles at James. “But I count myself a very fortunate man to be married to my wife, and to have you as one of my closest friends.”

It’s true, the closest to truth that he can speak at least.

“Now, shall we go have some light supper and discuss” There’s a crack of thunder and they both laugh. “....something that has nothing whatsoever to do with the weather?” Thomas finishes.

James smiles and they walk into the dining room together.

*  *  *

The rain isn’t stopping.

James scowls. He had been so insistent on keeping their appointment, not wanting to disappoint Thomas by not arriving, and now he’s trapped here under their roof. This time he hadn’t been able to refuse Thomas’s insistence on him staying the night. The puddles nearly cover the street outside and his coat obviously isn’t dry yet.

To make matters worse, Miranda isn’t even here to make it less awkward. James doesn’t know who her rendezvous this afternoon was with, and frankly he doesn’t care. What he told Thomas was true. He only wants her to be happy.

He wants Thomas to be happy too, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to be part of that happiness.

His hand tightens to a fist at his side. He can’t allow himself to admit this; he can’t allow it exist outside his own head. Slowly James lets his hand relax. He has Thomas’s friendship and that’s the most he can hope for.

What a fool he is for wanting more! He’s lucky enough to have the affections of the most delightful woman he’s ever met as well as the friendship of her husband. Has any man ever been that fortunate? Would anyone else even understand?

So here he is in a guest bedroom, well aware that Thomas is only a few doors down the hall.

And he’s still wearing Thomas’s shirt.

He’s been aware of that all evening too.

All during the dinner they shared, while Thomas expounded on his further plans for gaining more support for his plan to reinvent Nassau and make it productive. All during a brandy afterwards with Thomas’s own sleeves brushing his as he handed James his glass. Every time Thomas looked at him and his gaze lingered ever so slightly as though remembering that it was his shirt that James wore over his frame.

With a sigh of frustration James dims the lamp and crawls into bed. There is no hope of sleep. The rain continues to tap relentlessly against the windowpane. He’s not remotely sleepy. And the shirt smells of Thomas. James can’t sleep for the scent surrounding him, but he refuses to remove it because… it smells like _Thomas._ Like fresh soap and citrus, and something indefinable, but unforgettably recognizable as Thomas all the same. James would know his scent if he were in a room with a hundred other men.

He groans faintly, shifting position, aware of the pressure in his cock.  The ache weighs on him. James shifts again, wondering what’s the etiquette of touching one’s cock while you’re staying as someone’s guest? Most likely a gentleman wouldn’t.

He turns his head to the side and the collar of the shirt presses against his neck. Christ, he can’t do this while wearing Thomas’s shirt. Can he? A gentleman wouldn’t.

_Thomas…_

His cock tents the front of Thomas’s shirt and James licks his lips. Well, he’s never claimed to be a gentleman.

James draws Thomas’s shirt up to his waist as he spits in his palm and wraps his fist around his cock. He thinks of Thomas’s face whenever he’s speaking about a project he’s passionate about. The way Thomas’s face lights up, the intent tilt of his face, the ardent cadence of his voice.  The way he fixes his entire attention on to you, trying to make you understand his point.

James exhales shakily. God, he could listen to Thomas for hours and never tire of his voice. His thighs fall open and his hand slides slower, rougher over the hard curve of his shaft.

He thinks of Thomas’s smile and the way he always wants to know what James is thinking, no matter the topic they’re discussing. How he’s nothing like James had thought he would be when they first met, how Thomas is so much _more._

James holds his groan back, barely muffling it. He bites the back of his hand as his cock thrusts harder between his taut fist. His left hand tangles in the shirt, twisting it between his fingers, imagining it was Thomas pushing it up against his stomach, imagining it was Thomas’s hand upon him.

James’s head falls back on the pillow with a silent gasp as he comes.

He gets out of bed and goes to the basin. Rinsing his hand off and wiping his spent cock as well. He can’t leave any trace of what he had done behind. There are teeth marks on the back of his hand, but he ignores them.

James crawls back into bed and settles back down. Only then it hits him what he’s done. Thinking of Thomas like that, letting himself use Thomas like that. James’s face burns with shame. He turns over on his side, burying his face in his arms, in the sleeves of Thomas’s shirt.

 *  *  *

In the morning his own shirt is dry enough to wear and James dresses in his own clothes, leaving Thomas’s shirt behind on the guest bed. He had been tempted to tuck it away in the pocket of his coat, but someone would notice and every time he looked at it, he would remember what he had done. Best to leave it behind, to remind himself that he has to do better, has to hold himself to better standards in the future.

 *  *  *

After a brief breakfast and bidding James farewell, Thomas goes upstairs to get something from his bedroom. He passes the guest room and pauses at the open door.

The maid hasn’t tidied it yet, as evidenced by the rumpled bedclothes, the pillows left with the indent of James’s weight. Thomas moves closer, and then lets himself touch the pillow for the briefest of seconds.

He represses a sigh and turns to go when he notices, there, lying atop the blankets at the foot of the bed, is the shirt James had borrowed.

Thomas hesitates and then reaches for it. He picks it up and brings it up to his face. He breathes in the scent of James, mingled intimately with his own. He sighs softly into the linen, letting himself hold this moment still in time, just this once.

The logical thing would be to leave the shirt for the maid to add to the laundry. But instead Thomas takes it back to his bedroom and tucks it away in the corner of a drawer.

“Thomas?” He can hear Miranda in the hallway downstairs. “Thomas! Come and have some tea with me!”

“Coming, my dear!” He calls back, his fingers lingering on the shirt. And then he closes the drawer firmly and leaves it there.

It’s a sentimental token that he has no right to keep. James is not his lover, and no matter how much Thomas wishes things were different, they are how they are.

Still, for now he will allow himself to keep the shirt, unwashed and still smelling of James. It’s _his_ shirt after all, and if Thomas happens to get distracted throughout the day at the memory of James wearing it, well, that’s another matter altogether.


End file.
